


Wouldn't Know Where to Start

by rabbitxheart



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitxheart/pseuds/rabbitxheart
Summary: There’s the jingle of the door, then a shout and a bang outside, swiftly followed by more shouting, and Caleb’s just glad they are no customers to scare away with all the commotion.Caleb steps out into the café and there, tall, green and handsome, is the biggest mystery of Nicodranas this far.“Ah, you are the sailor friend!” Caleb says, warmth blooming in his chest at seeing his friends this happy.“Something like that,” the man chuckles, pulling away from hugging Nott. "Fjord."“Caleb,” he waves a little awkwardly standing as far away as he does.





	Wouldn't Know Where to Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrannyBoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrannyBoo/gifts).



> Written for the Widofjord Discord Valentines for our dear Oaky :) Happy early Valentine's Day! 
> 
> Title from Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier.

“Welcome to Fika, what can I help you with today?”

Caleb chokes on nothing, the firbolg at the register watching him calmly.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Fika,” the firbolg says without any hint of impatience. “It’s Celestial. Like a coffee break, but it’s like…” He thinks for a second.

“You have a break from work, you have fika,” someone pipes in from the kitchen. Caleb looks over to see a tiefling, purple horns adorned with more jewelry than he has ever seen one person own, let alone wear, and a patchwork apron of the most random of colours. He smiles, handing the clerk a cup of something warm. “You celebrate something, you have fika. Your friend feels a bit down, you show up at their doorstep with some cinnamon buns and you talk over some fika.”

“Oh, it sounded like something else entirely in Zemnian,” he explains, and the tiefling lets out a knowing chortle and looks over his shoulder.

“I like this one, Caduceus. Can I keep him?”

“Don’t scare the customers away,” Caduceus says with no heat, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “Don’t mind Molly. What can I get you?”

“I am looking for a job. My friend Nott heard you were hiring, said I should ask for Yasha.”

“Oh, you’re Caleb, that’s great. I’m Caduceus,” he says, reaching a hand out. Caleb takes it- warm, steady. Strangely comforting, even though he’s so tall Caleb has to tilt his head back. “This is Molly. Yasha is in the kitchen, I’ll go get her.”

 

“Nott’s friend,” a tall woman says as Caduceus reemerges. Aasimar, he guesses, especially with the Celestial coffee shop name. “Maybe you can offer me your opinion? These two are of no help,” she says, grinning when Molly slaps her rather impressive bicep.

“Sure,” Caleb nods, setting his bag of books down on the floor by his feet.

“I’ll get them,” Molly says, disappearing into the kitchen again.

“We’re trying to come up with something new for winter. We try to circulate the dishes we have with the seasons but still keep alternatives for the things people like,” Caduceus explains, getting plates and forks.

“You are Zemnian, yes?” Yasha asks. Caleb nods. “Some comfort food from home sells well here, especially foods that serve well cold. The stews, not so much. ”

“Too warm and heavy for these parts,” Caleb agrees, and Yasha nods in approval.

“This is one of our best sellers. _Pannkakstårta_.” Yasha says. “Layers of sweet crepes with berries and cream between. Good for the summer, not so much for wintertime. But we still want something similar.”

“Caduceus makes this honey cake with layers in autumn but we’re trying not to put all of our yearly honey supply into those, so we need an alternative,” Molly says.

“There’s a Zemnian dessert that is not too unlike this. With chocolate,” Caleb offers.

Caduceus looks at Yasha who nods instantly.

“You know how to make it?”

“I do.”

“You’re about my size,” Molly says, reaching into his pocket before throwing Caleb an elastic hairband. “Let’s go get you some clothes and an apron.”

  
“Such a big kitchen,” Caleb notes, wrapping the apron around himself.

“It used to be a pub and was connected to the hotel next door, so.”

“Oh, the Lavish Chateau?”

“Technically it still is connected,” Caduceus says. “We have friends at the Chateau who have their own ways in. We deliver sometimes and they offer us a lower rent.”

Yasha sets a box of assorted baking ingredients down on the table in front of them.

“The kitchen is all yours. Anything else you might need, just let us know.”

 

An hour and a half later Yasha is bent nearly double, inspecting the layering of her slice of cake.

“Jävlar,” she says. Caleb doesn’t know a lot of Celestial, but he can tell from her face that she’s impressed. “Fjord would love this.”

“Easily made vegan, too,” Caduceus says approvingly. He reaches out, big palm covering the entire round of Caleb’s shoulder, an anchoring weight as if he knows how nervous Caleb is. “That’s great, you should be very proud.”

“Thank you, mr Clay,” Caleb says, and Caduceus squeezes his shoulder affectionately.

“How about a trial run? A month, regular pay, if things look good after that you’re on.” Yasha says this, still staring at the rest of the cake. “Just come in tomorrow at 8 and we can go over the details.”

“Sounds perfect. Thank you.”

“Know what else sounds perfect? This and that leftover caramel sauce from yesterday,” Yasha finally decides on.

“This is why I love you,” Molly says, powerwalking to the walk-in pantry across the kitchen.

Caduceus hands Caleb a mug of tea, berry sweet and just perfect for the cake, silently accompanying him as they watch the other two experiment with the recipe they have been given.

 

 

When Caleb walks in the next day there are already two girls sitting in a sofa right in the middle of the tables. One of them, dressed in blue, eyes him oddly.

“Oh, hi!” The other says immediately, happily waving at him. Whatever she’s drinking has sprinkles on it, an array of what Caleb knows is yesterday’s pastries litter the table. Her horns are not as well-decorated as Molly's, but there's an odd bow here and there and he finds himself smiling back at her. “Are you Caleb?”

“That would be me, yes.”

“I’m Jester.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, getting to work when the other girl, airy monk vestiges and slightly outgrown sidecut, doesn’t seem to want to engage in conversation at all.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” He ask when it’s clear her staring isn’t going to stop.

“No.”

“Beau,” Jester tuts. “Try again.” Beau sighs, loud and dramatic, and sits up.

“Hi,” she says, much too cheery. “I’m Beau.”

She smiles and a chill runs down Caleb’s spine.

“I know, it’s horrifying. We’re working on it,” Molly says from the counter. “She’s a project.”

“Fuck off,” Beau says, seemingly more out of reflex than malice, flopping back down into the sofa.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? _Not_ here?” Molly continues.

“She’s taking me to the smut shop today,” Jester says excitedly. “Do you like smut, Caleb?”

“Jester,” Beau says. “You can’t just-”

“Books?”

“Yes,” Jester nods.

“A good book is a good book,” Caleb shrugs.

“I can bring you sometime,” Jester says and hands him a cupcake he may actually have made himself.

 

 

Late summer becomes autumn, endless numbers of pies and pastries and cured fish and salads and at some point, Caleb becomes fond. So, so very fond of this group of people he’s found himself in; deep talks and game nights and midnight mishaps and arguments making way for better understanding. Somehow he’s never unhappy in any constellation they find themselves in. Him and Nott were already a given, the others were not. One by one they’ve found their thing, though, and suddenly Caleb finds himself with more friends than he’s ever had.

Drinking wine with Molly after Saturday night closing, though. That’s a favourite.

 

“I kept trying to set her up with people and she refused, couldn’t figure out why.” Molly chuckles a little. “Then Caduceus caught Jester and Beau in the passage between the Chateau and Fika and, well.”

“Oh. Oh no, poor Caduceus,” Caleb chuckles. “That is adorable, though. I am happy for them.”

“We all are. We were just a little confused because we thought she was into Fjord but-”

“Fjord?” Caleb asks. “Sorry, I have just never met him but everybody keeps mentioning him in passing and nobody has ever described him to me.”

“Right! Well, he’s a sailor so he’s at sea a lot. We’re roommates when he’s not. Tall guy, not as strong as Yasha or Jester but definitely fit. Half-orc. Deep voice, drawl,” Molly says as he drifts off further and further. “Ripe for corruption,” he adds, more to himself than to Caleb.

“You sound like you share more than just a home with him,” Caleb says, raising a challenging eyebrow, making Molly snap back to reality with a loud cackle.

“Sehanine knows I tried. Seems I’m not his type,” Molly says, still laughing, and finishes the last of his sticky chocolate cake with a happy huff. “A bit shy, that one. But he’s a good man.”

“Maybe he is more of a romantic?”

Mollymauk shudders dramatically.

“Pass.”

“Do you have any idea when he will be back?”

“Never really do,” Molly shrugs. “Could be a week, could be six months.”

 

It takes, as it turns out, two days.

 

There’s the jingle of the door, then a shout and a bang outside, swiftly followed by more shouting, and Caleb’s just glad they have no customers to scare away with all the commotion.

Caleb steps out into the café and there, tall, green and handsome, is the biggest mystery of Nicodranas this far.

“Ah, you are the sailor friend!” Caleb says, warmth blooming in his chest at seeing his friends this happy.

“Something like that,” the man chuckles, pulling away from hugging Nott. "Fjord."

“Caleb,” he waves a little awkwardly standing as far away as he does.

“Go sit down, I’ll close up for tonight,” Yasha says. “You too, Caleb,” she says with a pat on the back in passing.

Fjord moves a little to the side, leaving room for him to sit, and Caleb happily accepts.

 

 

A few weeks later a loud banging on the door brings Caleb out of his trance-like cooking-induced state he’s in, elbows deep in dry rubs and marinades. Quickly checking the clock he sees that it’s much too late for any customer to come knocking.

Looking out the glass door makes him chuckle, earning him an eyeroll from Fjord on the other side, drenched to the bone.

“Hello, sailor. Did you fall off the docks?” Caleb says, letting Fjord in.

“Very funny.” Fjord smiles despite himself, setting his backpack down. “How have you not heard the rain?”

“I have been in the kitchen all day, prepping for Winter’s Crest,” Caleb says with a shrug. “Has it been raining for long?”

“Just started all of a sudden and doesn’t seem to want to stop. Mind if I stay for a while?”

“You can keep me company in the kitchen,” Caleb nods. “Caduceus has some extra clothes you can probably borrow. Come on.”

 

"These?" Fjord says, picking them out of Caduceus' pile.

“Yes. Tough if I am going to be honest with you I have no idea how he wraps these,” Caleb holds out a pair of… Whatever they are. He knows they’re Caduceus’ and that they go on legs and that’s about it.

“It’s okay, I do. Sailor, remember?” Fjord says and winks while taking his shirt off and well. Caleb kind of short circuits. Maybe. Fjord must interpret the look as cluelessness, thankfully. “They’re fisherman’s pants. Not great for the work I do but they are really handy in general.”

“I will leave you to it,” Caleb says, scurrying off to the kitchen as Fjord continues to change. “I need to check on the roast beef.”

 

Fjord comes out just minutes later.

“These may not be my style but they are _ridiculously_ comfy.” Caleb looks up to see Fjord lean against the doorframe, fisherman’s pants slung low on his hips and one of Caduceus’ soft cotton shirts warming the rest of him. It has thumb holes, and despite having seen it on Caduceus dozens of times, it’s somehow endlessly endearing now, especially with Fjord’s hair sticking everywhere from the rain.

Caleb reaches out to his right, grabbing one of the ready mugs on the counter, holding it out for Fjord.

“Here. Try this.”

Fjord eyes it warily.

“Is it weird? Is this weird coffee?”

“It’s nothing weird, and it’s not coffee.” Caleb can’t quite rein in his amusement. “What did coffee ever do to you?”

“More like what did _Molly_ ever do to _it_ . Never trust that person with caffeine,” he mutters, and Caleb shakes his head with a chuckle. Fjord takes a sip, his eyes fluttering closed with a _hmm_. “That’s not coffee, in deed. What’s in this?”

“Wine, spices, a little lemon.” Caleb hums, getting back to making marinade for Yasha’s cooking. “Zemnians drink it during winter, I make it sometimes when I miss home. Yasha has a similar recipe. Watch out for hers, though. That will get _Nott_ wasted.”

“Noted.” Fjord takes another sip. “Did you hear about that time Caduceus got some weird-ass mushroom off of whatever specialist he buys his tea from and Molly and Beau smoked it? No?”

Caleb shakes his head, slowly beginning to prepare marinades again as Fjord tells him stories the others haven’t shared.

And some they have, but hey. He’s grateful for the company.

 

It’s nearly four hours later that they emerge from the kitchen, pies baked and chunks of meat in their proper marinades. The bread will wait until the morning, when Caduceus gets back, as will the drinks.

“Looks like it stopped raining just in time for us to go home,” Caleb notes.

“Thank you. Both for letting me in and for the drink,” Fjord says as they exit Fika, waiting for Caleb to lock up.

“Anytime. It is nice having someone to talk to while I work,” Caleb smiles and turns around and _oh_.

Fjord is very close. Close enough that Caleb can see freckles scattered even in the darkest greens of Fjord’s face, little dots around the line of his lips. When he looks up again, Fjord seems even closer.

He hasn’t done this in a while, if this is what he thinks it is. The stoop may be small but there is no need for Fjord to have chosen the very top step to stand on, for him to lean against the railing with his hand so close to Caleb’s. Not if it wasn’t deliberate.

It’s both flattering, thrilling and a little scary, to be honest.

“I-”

Something passes over Fjord’s face, something akin to sadness that Caleb can’t quite decipher even though he tries, and as quickly as it happened it is gone, a neutral smile taking its place as Fjord backs down the stoop and onto the cobblestone below.

“I better start walking. I’ll see you tomorrow evening, yeah?”

“Ja. Bis dann,” Caleb says, turns to get his key out of the door, and watches out of the corner of his eye as Fjord walks away, shoulders slumped.

 

 

Maybe it’s the Coast. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, maybe it’s Nicodranas itself, but for whatever reason, celebrations are done not only with food and festivities, but also with flame.

The embers from the bonfire reach high, far higher than Caleb’s eyes can follow, his muscles locking in terror as his memories overtake him.

He can feel the cold of the night through his clothes even though he knows this is Nicodranas, knows the winter here remains warmer than most Zemnian summers. The happy loud voices giving way to louder, more frantic pleas for aid or for an end or-

“Caleb!”

Someone’s calling for him. It takes him a while to even react to the name, that it’s him they’re talking to, and just as that happens he’s being pulled away from heat and memories and the scent of flesh burnt to a crisp and there’s arms around him and cotton against his face and the scent of the sea and the same delicate scent of cologne that’s drifted through Fika these past months.

Warm hands come up to cradle his face, turns him from the fire.

“Hey,” Fjord says, barely a breath yet louder than the roaring fire next to them. “You’re okay, but you’re having a panic attack. What do you need?”

“Fjord,” Caleb stutters out as Fjord does something with his hair, soothing and grounding all at the same time. “Fjord, the fire.” Something passes over Fjord’s face, confusion and realization and decision all within seconds.

“Got it. Come on, let’s step away for a bit. Go clear our noses at the docks.”

 

It takes a while, but Caleb slowly comes back to his body. Fjord has been talking to him, softly, about nothing in particular, telling him about the ships passing by or what who does and where he’s been working.

“Wanna talk about it?” Fjord asks after a while, when Caleb has stopped fidgeting and is breathing normally again.

“I’m… I’m not great with fire. I mean I am good with it but I am not _good_ with it.” Caleb hesitates, nervously tapping out a useless rhythm with his left foot against the stone pier.

“I’m not going to push. Anytime you want to tell me, just pull me aside, yeah?” Fjord says, and Caleb wants to nod. He does, even if just not to disappoint Fjord. But Fjord catches the pause all the same.

“You don’t have to say things just to make it easy on me, Fjord,” Caleb explains. “I appreciate the thought all the same.”

“It’s not though,” Fjord says. “I don’t know what you’ve been through but I want you to feel safe with m- us. I grew up on the streets, didn’t find a safe haven until my teens. Sometimes knowing the option is there is enough, so that’s what I’m offering you.”

Caleb reaches out, wordlessly squeezing a _thank you_ into Fjord’s forearm. The _anytime_ in the comfortable silence between them is loud and clear.

 

Caleb sees Fjord eye him all New Year’s. _Everyone_ sees him always close by, always within reach.

So when Fjord is nowhere near him for midnight and midnight only, Caleb simply heaves a sigh, turns to Nott and plants a big kiss on her cheek, getting one in return.

 

It’s fine, until it’s just the two of them, awkwardly walking from Fika while the others move on to the much bigger celebration at the Chateau.

They barely speak at all, a clump of worry settling in Caleb’s stomach.

“I’m headed this way,” Fjord says, after a while.

“Ja, okay,” Caleb nods. “Happy new year.”

“Yeah,” Fjord says, walking away backwards. “You too, Caleb.”

 

Caleb walks the deserted streets of Nicodranas, but he doesn’t get very far.

 

“To hell with it,” Fjord says in the distance, and Caleb turns to see him come jogging.

“Did I forget something?” Caleb says, patting his pockets. Everything where it should be.

“No, not to my knowledge. I was just thinking. I got a job at the docks this week.”

“I’m not following,” Caleb says, yawning a little. “Wouldn’t sailors work at docks?”

Fjord draws a deep breath.

“When you leave for months at a time it’s difficult to… maintain something. I’ve been trying to ignore how crazy about you I am, telling myself my job made it impossible, and I got hired to plan routes today. Here. In Nicodranas. And suddenly I don’t have any excuses left.” Fjord looks up, and there’s that expression again. Only this time, with this knowledge, the hesitation and the fear of rejection is clear as day. “Maybe I’m being hasty, but. Some risks are worth taking.”

“Oh,” Caleb says, then it really sinks in and. “You and Molly live in this neighbourhood, yes?” He says, conversationally like he’s not vibrating out of his skin.

“Around the corner, yeah. Why?” Fjord says, pointing the way, frowning.

“Because when I start kissing you I will not be able to stop and I would prefer _not_ to get arrested for indecency when I could take my time with you instead,” Caleb explains as he begins walking in the direction Fjord pointed.

“That-” Fjord’s voice has dropped low enough that Caleb starts shaking at the mere sound of it. His face grows a little darker green and it’s as much of a turn-on as it is endearing. “That’s sound logic if I’ve ever heard it,” Fjord nods, catching up and taking the lead.

 

The door slams open so hard Caleb has half a mind to make sure it doesn’t fly off the hinges. He doesn’t, though. Partially because he’s being tugged by his hair into the hallway, but mostly it’s the sounds Fjord is making, little huffs of warm air against him as Caleb desperately tries to undress them both at the same time.

“Your-” Caleb groans as Fjord’s hands slip under his shirt, steady but in constant motion like he can’t quite decide where to start. “Your keys are still in the door.”

Fjord wordlessly reaches behind Caleb and gets them, then throws them down the hall without looking.

“There. I-”

Fjord’s foot gets stuck in his pant leg and they both go tumbling onto the floor, the fall softened by the clothes already there, Fjord half on top of Caleb and Caleb laughing the entire way. Fjord pauses, eyes scanning Caleb’s face.

“Second thoughts?” Caleb asks, not very worried at all.

“No,” Fjord answers softly. “Some of us just have to focus a bit more when we want to commit things to memory.”

“If we don’t get up from this floor...” Caleb trails off, Fjord’s warm weight on him a very good distraction. It’s part awe, part disbelief.

“I know, I know,” Fjord says, swiftly standing up. He extends a hand, pulling Caleb up, then leads him further into the apartment, shedding clothes all the way.

 

He wakes up to the best kind of aches, muscles tired and skin littered with little traces of the night, and when Fjord’s arm around his waist tightens and they begin to move again, the disbelief from last night is barely even a memory.

They ebb and flow, much like Fjord’s beloved ocean. Still, yet just enough movement to keep them both on edge. Slow, yet just enough of a pace see both of their bodies warm despite the way the covers fell off of the bed early on.

Hushed, yet just enough sighs and breaths that Caleb doesn’t hear the door to the apartment open at all.

There’s a curious hum from the hallway, the both of them stilling in panic, then a muffled laugh that’s so distinctly Molly’s that Fjord just groans in response.

“Did you go stripping again?” Caleb turns just in time to see Fjord’s blush grow even stronger. “I didn’t think you were _that_ drunk yesterday. You’re in luck though, I got you something greasy from the kitchen.” Caleb mouths and amused _‘again?’_ and Fjord refuses to look at him, turning his attention back to the door.

“Molly, I love you, but if you come in here I _will_ kill you.”

Caleb moves to pull the sheets up from the floor for _some_ decency, moving the both of them, and the groan it pulls out of Fjord is as breathtaking as it is _loud_.

There’s an amused snort from the other side of the door, then silence as Molly stops dead in his tracks just outside the bedroom. It’s the slow wheezing sound that catches Caleb off guard, growing louder by the second. It takes Caleb a few beats to realize what it is.

“Is he laughing at us?” Caleb whispers, perhaps a bit pointlessly now, over his shoulder to where Fjord looks like he’s trying to hide even though he’s a head taller.

“Yep. Yep, that’s exactly what he’s doing. We will never hear the end of this.”

Molly clears his throat, the mere sound of it somehow smugger than anything said outright.

“Mr Caleb.”

“...mr Mollymauk?” Caleb replies hesitantly.

“I’m glad for the two of you,” he says. It takes Caleb a little aback, how honest it is, despite the roasting he was preparing for. “I’ll go crash on Beau’s sofa for the day. My stash is your stash, just sanitize it afterwards.”

“His stash?” Caleb asks as they hear the door close and lock.

“We’re not going anywhere near that thing,” Fjord says resolutely. “I once watched Molly talk sex with the Ruby and _the Ruby_ was the one taking notes.”

“I am sure we can keep ourselves entertained without it,” Caleb says, smiling as Fjord presses a kiss behind his ear.

  


“Hey,” Beau says as they step into Fika later that evening, much like cows going to slaughter. Their friends are all gathered around the usual table, playing some kind of card game. Whatever it is seems to take a lot of concentration out of all of them today as they barely look up.

“You’re late for dinner,” Caduceus says. “There’s still food in the kitchen if you want some,”

“Thank you,” Fjord says, walking just ahead of Caleb. “I’m really h- Oh, goddamnit.”

Caleb looks over his shoulder and has to stifle a nearly ungodly noise.

“That is some detailed cake decorating,” Caleb nods. “I want to be mortified but I am mostly just impressed.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Fjord says with a sigh as he surveys the cake, not one but _two_ dicks, lovingly embracing eachother over an ornate and calligraphed _Congrats on the Sex_. One pink, one green, both alarmingly realistic. “I’m mortified enough for the both of us. Jester couldn’t have baked this alone, they were all in on it. ”


End file.
